I never considered myself a dog lover ....

I spent most of my younger years either living with my grandparents or gleefully packing up a bag to spend the weekend with them. Most of my free time was spent mixing cookie dough, baking pies, doing various crafts, reading and playing UNO. I didn't pay much attention to the large Samoyeds in the back yard. They were old and they had lost their pristine white fur. I remember the day we put the last one to sleep; she had bad arthritis and it was almost winter. The vet didn't think she'd live through the winter and my grandpa wasn't sure he had it in him to haul her in and out of the house on his back anymore. My uncle bawled that day. Thor was his dog. I didn't understand how anyone, especially a boy, could love an animal enough to cry that hard.

A few years later, my grandma purchased a Border Collie and a Shetland Sheepdog. The Collie was for my aunt, who had just moved to a new house in the country. The Sheltie became my grandpa's newest pride and joy. While I'll admit the dog was a beautiful puppy with silky fur and a pretty tail, she was as vocal as a dog can be. She barked at everything. People knocking on the door, the postman delivering mail, birds flying by, squirrels on the deck, bugs on a window. Everything. All the cuteness in the world couldn't have made up for that.

Besides, my heart had been stolen by a gray tabby I claimed as my own when I was 6. Just before the start of 2nd grade, my mom's cat had a litter of kittens. She told me I could pick my favorite to keep, but we had to find good homes for the other 3. I picked the little guy I thought was the cutest and routinely marked his belly with an orange marker. He had an identical brother and I didn't want any confusion or mistakes. For years, my little Smokey had an orange tint to his belly fur; I like to think it added more kitty character. He was my pal until my freshman year of college. He slept on my pillow, napped on my lap, ran to meet me at the door when I cam home, posed for all of my photography endeavors, made beds on anything I left on a table, couch or bed. For more than 10 years, he was a constant companion and could never be found very far from my side. He was even there for me the day my grandma died and all the sorrowful days that followed. I certainly never imagined a day without him around, and I bawled like a baby the day he passed.

I spent my college years pet-less and eager to graduate, find employment and buy myself a cute little orange tabby cat I would name Pumpkin. In my last year at OSU, my grandpa's Sheltie passed and he adopted a Jack Russel - Pug named Brutus. He won my heart with soft licks and playful energy, but I still thought I was destined to be a 'cat lady.'

Last summer, Mike and I spent some time looking for available cats on the SPCA website. We found the perfect orange tabby kitten. She was still young, less than a year old, and her name was already my pre-selected "Pumpkin." We made plans to visit the shelter and then headed to the mall for some browsing. We stopped by the pet store we visited often, browsed the cages full of dogs ranging in breed from Yorkshire Terrier to English Bulldog and requested to play with a little long-haired dachshund. She had the prettiest face I'd ever seen on a dog and looked like she was willing us to play with her. "Just give me 10 seconds and you'll never put me back!"

She'd just arrived at the pet store the day before and still had to be seen by the vet. Another couple had stopped by expressing interest in her. We didn't have a lot of money, I was in the middle of an internship and finishing up undergrad, we were planning a wedding. Despite this, we put a hundred dollar deposit on that little ball of joy and anxiously waited for the day we could bring her home. A few days later, the store called with "bad news." Our little girl, who we'd named Molly, had some hip and knee problems that were not correctable. They weren't sure we'd still want her. We knew it might be hard down the road after she aged and started to feel those problems a little more, but how could we say no to that face?! She walked in our front door hours later and she's warmed our hearts every day since then.

We had the fortune of stumbling upon a local group called the "Hampton Roads Dachshund Meet-Up" this June, and discovered that the lady who organized it also volunteered with Dachshund Rescue of North America. That's where we found our second ball of joy, a young fellow we named Fozzie after his "waka waka waka" walk. After just a month of owning two long-haired dachshunds, I can honestly say I can't imagine my life without them. They are waiting for me at the door when I get home every night, they shower me with kisses, wag their tails when I say their names, give me lots of hugs, bring a smile to my face when I feel more like crying, cuddle up beside me as I retire for the night. They remind me, every day, that I have chosen to value the correct things in life. And, without a doubt, they've turned me into one of the world's biggest dog lovers.